Stolen Moments
Vanessa S. Quest
Pairing H/R
Rated FRAO (because bount-chicka-wow-wount is apparently not a rating scale. Damn.)
Dedicated to CMAli for her birthday and epic awesomeness.
Many people perceive law enforcement as a dangerous career path, and while it is true that through profiling Reid can honestly say he has run across hundreds of killers, rapists, and some of the other candidates for worst members of society award.
That said, occupational hazard is a phrase readily involved whenever Reid's luck has gone south. So, with his increased likelihood of injury or activity thanks to said career, Reid had thought he'd skate past the annual percentage of people who fall victim to a crime because of other reasons that simply making it a habit to stare criminals in the face.
The first thought in his mind is nothing like this, which admittedly had been his third thought followed by a very quick, 'Fuck you lady-luck!'
No, Spencer, because even if he does associate so intimately at work as Reid when he's home he is still Spencer, thinks to himself of Foyet and Hotch's fate and this rapid thought evolves into trying to assert who would stalk him from which case who is at large and would blame him or want access to him above all others, and as he ransacks the lists of names, faces, jail-time, convictions, overturns, and overall ability to even find let alone get to where he lives he comes up blank. He sputters as a strong fist clobbers his solar plexus a third time while unsub number two holds back his arms in a shoulder-hold. Number three is robbing him blind, well, at least the thief thinks that way.
He's going for anything of fencing value, which admittedly, Reid has little of unless your fence has a thing for books of antiquity. Sure, his DVD collection of a moderate size is wiped out. Star Trek, Star Wars, Stargate, and enough hokey comedies to drown out the macabre for any number of hours are swept into a sack in armfuls.
Hacking at a fist planting deeply into his midsection he feels one of the ribs at the bottom of his ribcage move in a strange new way. This only adds to the new levels of pain.
"You said this place's gonna be empty!" One unsub, the one pinning Reid's arms back, says defensively.
"Well, this just isn't his lucky day! Dumb-ass nerd just comes home on a Friday night like that…" Reid notes how this is punctuated with a fist to his left cheekbone. Oh how he remembers this from his days in High School.
"I didn't sign up for this shit…" Number two chimes up, and Reid realizes it's very foolish that he isn't talking right now trying to get them to stop hitting him, or leave with him alive for that matter.
"What you're doing is a federal offense… you know that?"
"Crackah please, you think my ass gives two shits about what you sayin'?" The aggressive unsub pulls Reid's head up by the root of his hair. "Take a good mothah fuckin' look, honky. You ain't livin' through to tell anyway."
Reid does, he takes a very good look, and he makes sure he makes it known. "You've done time in state before, haven't you?"
It is a guess, but an educated one. Aside from the young man's violent tendencies, he has a jail-house tattoo inked on his neck, the spider web spans three spokes, Reid recalls that as an indicator of three years jail time.
"Probably Juvie, right? You think that was hard time? Do you? You'd be surprised how much meaner Federal Prison is. What you're doing, by the way, assaulting a federal employee… it's considered a federal crime. You won't be sitting in a State hotel. And you might be tough enough to make it, but what about you?" Reid redirects suddenly to the man pinning him. "How badly do you want to be someone's bitch for the rest of your life? You know the risk of AIDS in prisoners? At least you'd only wind up doing what, 10 years tops… of course, that's because you'd die, not get out on parole so we're clear."
He could feel the hands loosen, shaking slightly from his motivational speech.
"Do what he's talking about, they aren't giving you time for hitting a federal employee, they'll put you in for killing a federal employee, and any crime while committed doing a capital crime? That's not State, honey. If I were you, I'd cut my losses and leave now. Maybe the cops won't catch you if you leave my stuff behind. Try to fence it, it'll be found. Believe me, my friends who also work for the federal government will make sure it is, and then you'll be someone's bitch. Actually, you have pretty hands. You'll be several people's bitch. Probably at the same time… but really, if you're down with that…"
Reid suddenly felt himself falling forward as the arms pinning him dropped, he was launched with a shove into the other thief. Number two made a run for the door.
"What the fuck you doin' pussy? This bitch is playin'. Ain't no one catchin' us! We wearin' gloves, and you know my fence is tight. He from the hood, he won't rat nothin' to no pigs."
"Keep my cut, I tol' you I didn't sign up for this shit. That buck-tooth friend of yours lied. Said he's never home on the weekends or most days in the week, was all, he won't be there an' he has shittons of movies and shit to take. He didn't say SHIT that his neighbor's a fed! I'm done!"
Quickly assessing that Reid would probably have to have a very interesting set of words with his neighbor after he gets through this, before sicking Morgan on him of course, he concentrates on the alpha crook.
Reid staggers to regain balance and instead crashes to the floor reminding himself that yes, he does need his ribs to not look concave. The second unsub leaves, and with that odds are in his favor. He doesn't hear the telling crick that indicates the door will stay shut either. Benefits to an old building is knowing the sounds it'll make when things work. He remembers vaguely one time when he was getting used to the building when he hadn't secured the door all the way shut. He had gotten home from a long case, come in around 4 PM after having been working since 6 AM the day before, and he just softly closes the door and drops to the couch asleep. He awoke to a neighbor standing over him asking if he was alright, he realizes that isn't so long ago as to not being the neighbor who cased his joint.
That slimy little jack-ass had bucked teeth, too, and half the contents of Reid's wallet before he had realized he was there.
He tries to realize what time it is, how long this is taking. He silently hopes Hotch hasn't gotten roped into one-more-thing at the office, in fact, if his swelling sense of time is right, Hotch should be here within another twenty minutes… or an hour, adrenalin made clocks seem to run really slow but have time racing by.
"Man, why do ya always rough em up?" Number three says, making more of an appearance than just arm-swipes of stuff into a pillow-case.
"What the fuck you think I should do when some honky just shows up? Get him a beer?"
The other shrugs, he doesn't seem as skiddish as the one who Reid had scared with jail time, no, this might not be his style, but this isn't his first picnic either.
"You just had to take your time. Dude, if you kill that mother fucker that shit falls on me. I'm not getting' nabbed on killin' some skinny white guy. Shit, you even know what skin heads do to white-folk killers? Hell no, I'm not going out that way."
"Like we're gonna get caught!"
The door creaks as it swings open, making a clack at the half-way mark.
Reid can see the unsub who had been pursing everything go stalk-still. The louder counter-part seems to be antsy suddenly.
"Shit, you hear that!"
"Shut up B."
"It sounds like it was the door…"
"Shh!" He listens then drops the bag. "I'm goin' out the window. You best book it if your ass don't want to move out of the hood."
"Son of a bitch saw my face, you know I can't let that roll."
"Suit yourself, you get caught you best not even breathe me and K's names. You do an' my boys'll smoke yo ass."
He nods and turns to face Reid, who has managed to slide half-way up the couch, collapsing into it in a seated position. He knows he can't move further, and while that would seem like he was giving up, his hands stretching the span of the couch as if coming to terms and relaxing with it, what the man doesn't know is that Reid has a back-up pistol taped under the table directly behind him.
That table, which can be seen from the entry-way was always reserved for 'nice looking stuff', a house fern in a cheap plaster canister that looks Ancient with the way it bellows and divots into the same pattern as a column sits atop a yellowed doily, one of the few keepsakes from his childhood home he kept. Only god, and he, knows why he kept that thing. The one item not associated with any particularly scarring truth of his childhood… that and he kept several of his own personal books, but that didn't count.
To the right would be a candy dish half-filled with M & Ms thanks to his propensity to live off pure sugar and caffeine, and the dish to the left would be empty except for when he'd deposit his keys there.
He waits until the third man leaves, now that it's just the two of them he offers, "No one else is here now. It's just you, and me…" his fingers coast lightly underneath the table and he suppresses his urge to widen his eyes.
"And yer little friend, right?" He draws Reid's gun on him.
He thinks in that moment, 'So THAT'S where it went… crap.' But before he can do more than look at his gun pointed at him then lock eyes with the man training it on him he hears it.
"I'd like to think I'm a bit more than a little friend." Hotch says, his gun is drawn and before the unsub can even fully turn to see who is suddenly speaking- which is a good thing from how his hand twists the gun and his finger curls against the trigger more tightly- there is a flume of air moving past Reid, a boom of sound as a gunshot goes off, and a plume of stark crimson pouring from the young man's chest before him.
The would-be trigger-man clatters to the ground, landing half on Reid's buckling coffee-table thanks to continual abuse of over 300 pounds of books he likes to store on it, and then with a crack, he is fully on the ground and 300 pounds of books are folding in and over him, clobbering him with a right bit of justice for harming their keeper.
Trying to force himself upward and off the couch, one hand curling to his sorest of ribs, wincing, Reid finds that Hotch has beaten him to the punch, already around the couch and kicking the gun far from the man's hand.
"Spencer, my phone." He digs it from his own pocket and tosses it onto the couch directly next to Spencer's hand. "Call 911."
Hotch holsters his service piece and checks the pulse of the man he just shot.
"On that…" Reid says sounding as winded as he feels, he hits in 3 before he realizes 911 when on a case is probably a bad code-word for Garcia now that he's off the clock in an emergency and clears the phone's history before manually keying in 9-1-1-SEND.
He lifts the phone to his ear, he hears his cracking in an odd sensation that is neither pleasant nor particularly melodic as his ligaments in his shoulder explain that too had been put in an awkward shape and forced to retain that position long surpassing the comfort-zone in time.
"911 what is your emergency?"
"Uh, hello… My name is Dr. Spencer Reid, I'm with the FBI… I walked in on my apartment being burglarized…" He lets the pain from expanding and contracting his muscles in his chest to form speech sink in before cutting to the chase, "I've been injured and one of the robbers has been shot."
Hotch looks at Reid, now with the unsub cuffed and his pockets turned out to reveal an ID, he gestures for the phone.
"Hello, operator? My name is Aaron Hotchner, I came in and found Reid being attacked. I shot the suspect in the chest, he had a gun at the time. My …Reid has what looks like broken ribs, and a dislocated shoulder, he is also bleeding and I have yet had the chance to identify where, how or what caused it. Please send police and two ambulances to 5th and Morrell Avenue, his apartment is 19 D. The door is open. Reid, keep talking to her, I'm going to see where you're hit." He thrusts the phone back to Reid, obviously using it to keep Reid talking, especially now that vital information has been exchanged in a non-essay format.
It took 7 minutes for the ambulance to show, it only took the cops a minute and a half. One of the two first-responders assisted with the suspect, putting pressure on the bleeding, the other spoke with Reid and Hotch about what had transpired.
"I came home after work, they blitzed me behind the door…"
"They?"
"There were three of them, two African American, one Hispanic, all of them were in their early twenties. The ring-leader is right there, the others were here to rob my place. They heard from a neighbor I'm not home often, and I suspect he helped them enter the building. He's Johnny Fischer in apartment F right down the hall, coincidentally." Reid let out a stinging breath, "The one guy was behind the door, so when I closed it, he grabbed me and slammed me into the door. He took my gun and tossed it to the Hispanic guy, then he" Reid gestures a head nod to the floored unsub, "started hitting me and demanding my wallet and ATM card."
Reid stopped talking when the paramedics rolled in, waiting to deduce how this was going to play out, the officer signaled him to keep talking, so he did.
"I told him I didn't have it, I left my wallet in my car, he grabbed a bottle of bourbon from my kitchen counter and started hitting me with it."
Aaron looked around to notice a trail of broken and crushed glass that he had dragged in from the doorway under his own feet that he hadn't noticed on the way in once he had spotted Spencer with a gun trained on him.
"It broke after five swings on my left shoulder." He realized then why he probably hadn't realized he was bleeding, the body shots were numbed by the body shots, go figure. "He started to demand I tell him where the valuables are, where I have a stash of money, my guns, my jewelry, my girlfriend's jewelry, if I had drugs, anything that he could sell. When I couldn't produce anything new, he talked about killing me. I told him I'm a federal agent, something my neighbor probably told them, and then informed them it's a federal offense to assault me. It got the one guy- the other African American one- to leave. The Hispanic guy called him K, also referred to him," again Reid nods toward the unsub, "B."
From the floor, the injured man laughed, "And we call him G. Together we're KGB cuz we're bad ass like that, mothah fuckah. And when G and K hear you rollin' on us? They goin'a tear yo ass up… they gonna kill you… they might not'a wanted you dead befoh, but you dead now, crackah."
"Actually, I believe his words were that if you even mentioned him his boys would smoke your ass." Reid said matter-of-factly. The younger of the two was starting to get unnerved that his threats weren't working like he expected. He had been used to intimidating others into doing what he wanted.
"When the one left, he didn't shut the door all the way, when it swung open, it spooked the other accomplice into going out the window without the loot. About two minutes later, Hotch stopped by, saw the door was open and entered with his piece drawn because none of us are the sorts to leave doors aimlessly ajar. When he did, I was sitting on the couch going for one of the guns I keep hidden beneath a table, he apparently found it before and took it. He pointed it at me, Hotch saw me with a gun drawn on me, and he fired. I can sit down with a sketch artist for the others if you'd like, but I'm sure my neighbor will know who they are." He glances to Hotch, "Hell, give any one of my coworkers invitations to sit in on the interview and he'll give you their names, addresses, and social security numbers if he has it."
Hotch convinced the police to do as they suggested, offering to pick Reid up from the hospital in a few hours pending his results. It was a sham to keep LEOs from realizing he had come over to see his boyfriend and not his coworker about some paperwork.
The police were obviously happy a professional profiler had managed to get brought into the string of robberies, even if it befell him somewhat violently, after all- their arrest record just went up by 4 within 24 hours.
By the next day, when the cops were booking K and G, K being Kevin "K" Lamar and G being Jose "G" Gutierez a small-bit member in a chapter of the Lords, specializing in burglary, breaking and entering, and car stereo theft; simultaneously, Aaron was sorting through Spencer's trashed apartment packing it up for the inevitable move-in date into the Hotchner home. Spencer, sitting on a chair pulled over from the kitchen, had one arm in a sling and a shiner than took up half his face.
"I am never going to live this down."
"You single-handedly stopped a city-wide crime spree of three home-burglars. You talked two into leaving. If they try to make you into anything less than amazing I'll put them through a psych eval."
"Isn't Jack going to have a hard time coping with a new housemate…?" Spencer attempted, which was strange since he had directly said he wanted to move out of the apartment when Aaron had picked him up from the hospital.
"He's resilient and he adores you. You know, on my way to pick you up from the hospital I bought a new lock, so you'd feel more secure…" He smiles wickedly, "I think instead of returning it, I'll exchange it for a lock to our room. That'll at least give you an escape route from a twenty-second encore performance of where's the quarter."
Spencer smiled, "I could think of several much more practical uses of that lock." One arm draped Aaron and pulled him in for a kiss. "I could demonstrate if you get the door. And help me get this shirt off. A pull-over sweater was not the brightest idea in hind-sight."
"I recall someone insisting they could wear it." Aaron chides, reminding his lover of this morning's conversation.
"As I recall it, someone else was getting a bit too frisky with my bruised ribs when I tried to button my other shirt."
Aaron feigned upset indignation, "What, that was strictly my attempting to help hold the fabric together so you could navigate the buttons single-handedly."
Spencer gives a coy look half mocking an angry scowl and half smirking a seductive reproach for why Aaron was taking so damn long to take him to bed. "Oh really? Well we'll have to try again and see if you've managed to find a slightly less damaging approach."
Aaron kissed Spencer between the eyes, "Of course, I'll be more mindful of the ribs next time. Sorry dear."
"Hmm, I can think of a few other things I'd like you to be mindful of…" Spencer suggested, rubbing forward, against his lover blatantly. And with that, Aaron lost his cool, lifting Spencer in a fireman's carry, and crossed the threshold to Spencer's most-trashed room to deposit him on the bed.
In his eyes he carefully monitored for signs of discomfort from being in the room, discomfort for being jarred, and for pleasure. Oh how carefully he watched for anything that hinted at Spencer feeling better. Having his home violated, Aaron knew just how hard that was, but he wanted to make everything right again. He knew he couldn't make EVERYTHING right, he couldn't erase the memories, but he could take the edge off it… one blow job at a time, it wasn't as catchy of a thought as Aaron had hoped, but he still went down on his lover eagerly to implement the tactic.
Spencer's toes curled outward and inward gripping the sheets between them, still pulling to get the shirt off with one arm as it failed him miserably, but Aaron refused to assist anything but his erection. Finally nearing his limit, Spencer ignored the shirt and pulled Aaron's hair to bring him to Spencer's face, kissing him passionately.
"Stop." He tilts his head back exposing his Adam's apple and Aaron places a gentle bite on it enjoying the throaty cry it elicits. "Take off your pants, mine too if you don't mind."
Aaron smiled, Spencer rarely bossed him around in bed, but if ever there was a day to give him the control to do whatever he wanted, that would be today.
"Aaron, I want you to take me…" His tone, while to some people would seem to beg for hardness secretly implored gentle caresses, soft touches, velvety gentility. Aaron knew that because he knew the jokes about the shirt had been from real sources. If he didn't think he'd hurt Spencer stripping him of the shirt, it would already be crumpled in a corner.
He decided to follow directions, Spencer would orchestrate the highest sense of pleasure and minimal amounts of pain for them both, and he trusted in that. After all, he trusted in Spencer more than he'd trust any other person shy of himself, if he didn't he wouldn't so eagerly move Spencer in without the younger man even broaching the topic.
"I love you Spencer…" He says, rocking his hips further and further into Spencer as their bodies meet in two points. Between breathy whispers of declaration of love and bossy orders that are quickly falling into whimpers of ecstasy and wheezing as Spencer admits hot sex with broken ribs isn't his smartest idea (but definitely one of the most worthwhile things he can think of doing with broken ribs)… Aaron and Spencer's tongues exchange in an exquisite dance. Finally, hot and sticky, with a knot tying and untying in the pit of his stomach, Aaron loses his load inside of Spencer with several more rhythmic, deliberately slow thrusts, semi-soft he keeps pounding into Spencer's g-spot until he also cums, some finding it's way onto the pull-over sweater that Aaron realizes must be boiling Spencer alive. Hands gently scooping underneath it, he rolls it up and over Spencer's chest quickly, his head comes through then the genius pulls through his good arm with gusto, confirming Aaron's suspicions that Spencer IS overheating, and then, after removing his arm from the sling for Spencer, Aaron pulls the sweater down and off the arm before tossing it in a corner with their clothes.
He repositions Spencer's arm in a sling.
"I miss not getting to scratch down your back and clamp my teeth into your shoulder when I cum."
Aaron smiles and draws Spencer's hand to his face, placing kisses against it.
"Round two, let's try to fix it a little. Wall sex?"
Smiling in a way more becoming a horny teenager than a forty-something year old, Aaron offers Spencer a hand to lift him up even if he does goad him a little, "You know I'm the one who's going to be moving all those books. Let's make sure I don't throw my back out."
"Are you implying you want to fuck me so wildly that you'd risk it?" Spencer says, licking his lips, "Because honestly, I can hire a mover…"
"Why you…" Aaron kisses Spencer roughly at first, softening and deepening it at different intervals enjoying the way Spencer responds to his touch.
"After I move in… this is going to stop isn't it?" Spencer says, while Aaron pounds in between his legs. It's an awkward position, and even more awkward moment to stop, but it stills him instantly.
"Not happening. We do this what, once a week where we just give ourselves to two or three or four hours of incredible sex? When we live with each other, we'll also be able to have morning sex sometimes."
Spencer blushes at the thought of a quickie before work and starts to rock his hips up and down Aaron's member as he rides him, "You stopped. Don't tell me you threw your back out already."
"I was having a serious conversation about fucking you in the morning." Aaron says in a teasing tone, he undulates precisely, making sure he just grazes Spencer's sweet spot before pounding twice with a purpose hitting it perfectly center.
"Ah… AH! You're a tease…" He pouts when Aaron stops, "…a tease who's going to set the alarm for an extra fifteen minutes early twice a week now."
He rocks into the spot again, and Spencer counters, "Actually, three times a week."
Aaron smiles, and as he starts losing himself to orgasm the two teeter precariously, Aaron stiffens at just the right moment to keep them from pitching over and guides them in a pivot and dip to the bed where they recover from the round in pants and gasps of pleasantry.
Spencer cuddles into Aaron, not something many people would attribute to Dr. He Doesn't Touch People Reid, and even though they're hot and sweaty from sex, Aaron loves it. He wants more of it, which leads his hands to roaming and him getting a look from his lover.
"I told you be careful of the ribs… tickling is not helpful." Spencer winces more than he laughs.
"Oh what's that old adage, laughter is the best medicine?"
"Except for broken ribs and asthma, if I remember correctly." Spencer defends and Aaron just leans over to kiss him again, swallowing the sounds Spencer's mouth is releasing.
"Hmm, I think, for once… you're not."
Mimicking his tone, Spencer replies, "Hmm, then I guess that would be considered mind-blowing sex. That is still on the rosters when I move in, right?"
Aaron smiles victoriously, "It's just one trip to Lowe's away from having a locking bedroom door."
"…I guess, being that I'm going to be living in a house, I have to become acquainted with such locations. How about you start instructing me on them this afternoon?" His eyebrows wriggle, "After we take a shower…"
Fin.
Happy Birthday to the Incredibly Awesome CMAli, sorry I couldn't think of something better for you- because you deserve better- but smut from me is rare, so even if it's not high quality, it's still not something I put together for just anyone.